


Mistakes Were Made

by coveredinfeels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 14:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13706631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/pseuds/coveredinfeels
Summary: The Iron Bull gets roped into fake dating a friend, and then unexpected feelings happen.The real issue: the friend he's fake dating is Rilienus, and the guy he's having feelings for is Rilienus' super hot but kind of an asshole ex, Dorian Pavus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I REGRET NOTHING

When you think about it, it's kind of all Krem's fault. If Krem hadn't taught him that there were guys from Tevinter who weren't all that bad, he wouldn't have stepped in when Rilienus started drunkenly arguing with Dalish about magic, _before_ Skinner did anything that would get them thrown out of the bar.

Okay, he probably would have anyway, because Skinner didn't need any more assault charges on her record and while it was a shitty bar, it was one of his favourite shitty bars and he didn't want to get banned from it, but he wouldn't have befriended Rilienus afterwards.

Or, despite the problem with Rilienus, continued being friends this long.

The problem with Rilienus isn't that he's a mage, or that he's from Tevinter, or that he says a lot of stupid shit, although all of these things are true and occasionally the source of problem _s_.

The real problem with Rilienus is The Dorian Cycle.

Bull has never actually met Rilienus' boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, or whichever it is this week, but The Dorian Cycle goes roughly like this:

**Stage One** : Rilienus drunkenly cooing at his phone while he tells everyone how in love he is with Dorian and how they're going to get married.  
**Stage Two** : Rilienus angrily stabbing insults into his phone while ordering too many shots and possibly getting into a fight.  
**Stage Three** : Rilienus drunkenly sobbing on somebody's shoulder about how much he misses Dorian and how he's going to text him that, right now, is that a bad idea?

They've tried stopping him texting during Stage Three but all it does is delay the inevitable, which is a return to Stage One to begin the cycle all over again. This goes on until the First Day Incident.

Rilienus is actually pretty reluctant to specify what the First Day Incident was or why they broke up over it, but it coincides with a bet he has with Rocky over who can go the longest in Wintermarch without drinking, which means that he goes through this breakup stone cold sober.

It's not pretty.

“I've been thinking, and I have a plan.” he declares.

He's shown up on Bull's doorstep at six in the morning, clutching a coffee cup the size of his head. Bull looks him over. He guesses it's just lucky Rilienus decided to come to him with the plan, as the person most likely to already be already awake at this hour. “Does this plan involve getting some actual sleep some time this week?” Because it doesn't look like that's been part of it so far.

“Sleep is overrated. Chemistry tops biology every time.” Rilienus says, giving a sort of weird toast motion with his bucket of coffee.

Bull feels himself beginning to have Suspicions. “You put some of your weird potion shit in there, didn't you.” Rilienus likes to tout the benefits of Modern Pharmaceutical Magic, a concept which Bull thinks sounds like the worst idea ever. It's a very large coffee cup. Could probably fit at least a small demon in there.

“Not alcohol, I'm still winning.” Rilienus says. “Are you going to invite me in so I can explain my brilliant plan, or not?”

Ah, what the heck. How bad could it be? “Sure. Shoes _off_ , though. I'm making porridge, so we can talk in the kitchen.”

“Ugh. Does the Qun have something against _decent_ breakfast foods?” Rilienus complains, trailing him in and kicking his shoes off haphazardly in the vague direction of Bull's shoe rack.

He doesn't really feel like having the _still Tal-Vashoth over here, remember?_ discussion at six am. “Does Tevinter have something against solids before noon?”

* * *

Bull pointedly lays several coasters out on the kitchen table and Rilienus makes one of his _you are ridiculous_ faces but puts his coffee bucket on top of them, stretches his gangly legs out to put his feet on the table and then retracts them again when Bull coughs. “You are worse than my mother. Where are your mangy felines this morning?”

“Still asleep, I think.” Or at least, still upstairs on his bed. Rilienus doesn't like his cats. Bull doesn't know why; they like him just fine.

“One licked me last time I was here.” Rilienus says. “The fat one.” He thinks for a moment. “The fat, orange one that smells.”

“Squash has some dental issues that we're working on.” Bull says defensively. “And he gives good kisses.”

“Whatever.” Rilienus says, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Do you want to hear my plan? It is a superb plan. Faultless, really. I just require one small favour from you to make it work.”

Ah, and the plot thickens. “What favour?”

“We need to date.”

Who needs to _what_ now? “You... and me?”

“Don't flatter yourself, you're not my type either.” Rilienus says, scowling at him over his coffee-bucket. “We don't need to _really_ date, we just need Dorian to think we're dating.”

He pauses a moment. Bull waits for this to make any sense at all. “Fast forward to the part where this would help anything or be a good idea.”

“If Dorian thinks I'm dating somebody else, then he'll give up on our tragically doomed love and move on. Then if Dorian starts dating somebody, I'll be able to give up on our tragically doomed love and move on.”

“Or you could just... try dating somebody else for real?” He's fairly sure that has, on occasion, been part of Stage Two of the cycle.

“Tried it, never works out.” Rilienus shrugs. “I need something I know can go on for as long as it takes for Dorian to find somebody, not a week and then they break up with me for some completely ridiculous reason.”

Bull thinks back to previous examples of this. “Like that you talk too much about your ex, or that you keep comparing them to your ex, or that--”

“Yes, yes. The point is, you're currently unattached, already aware of my idiosyncrasies, and as a bonus, you'll make Dorian so terribly jealous he'll probably fall in love with someone else out of pure _spite_.”

Idiosyncrasies is an interesting word for _my large number of terrible personality traits_. “What do I get out of this whole deal?” Other than the chance to see the Mysterious Ex up close and in person, and the possibility that it's all going to be a hilarious disaster, of course.

“Well, for a start,” Rilienus says, and gestures grandly at himself. “Not that I'm saying there will be sex, but I _am_ a catch and you will get to be seen with me in public.”

“There will definitely not be sex.” There's nothing _wrong_ with Rilienus, in particular, but he's really not Bull's type.

“In addition,” Rilienus continues, ignoring that one, “you will receive an ongoing subscription to the Gateau Club.”

This one actually makes Bull pause. “That's the place you get those fancy Orlesian cakes from.”

“My mother keeps buying me gift subscriptions because we don't talk and therefore she doesn't actually know what I like or anything about me, such that since I'm no longer eight years old she can't buy my love with cake. I'll just change the address on it.”

Talk about hitting a man in his weak point. Rilienus sometimes brings those cakes over, usually when he wants something, granted, and they are pure sugary joy. Bull's looked up the shop but he can't quite bring himself to spend that much on cake. “You can't be bought with cake, but I can? Harsh, Rilienus.”

“One cake, every month--” Rilienus wheedles. “Sometimes it's a set of tiny cakes instead, with little sugar flowers on, all itsy and bitsy and cutesy and flouncy and all that other crap you love for some unfathomable reason. All you have to do is turn up to a few parties with me, some very minimal pda, and you will have cake _and_ my eternal gratitude.”

“Cake, eternal gratitude, and you need to stop announcing to the room when you think Dalish might be about to do some magic, it's a dick move.”

Rilienus shrugs. “It's a deal. There's a party Friday night I'm sure Dorian will be at, I'll text you the--” He breaks off, yanking his knees up to his chest. “ _Fuck_ it bit me, Bull, one of your horde is attempting to _eat_ me.”

“Mrow?” says something from under the table.

Bull bends down. “Aw, Treacle, you're awake? Are you a hungry girl? Are you?”

“Mrow!” Treacle replies, changing tack to come over and headbutt his ankles.

“I. Felt. Teeth.” Rilienus says, scowling.

“She likes socks, and she's a absolute sweetheart, aren't you, treacle-tart.” Bull says, picking her up. Treacle answers him by attempting to knaw on his knuckles. “Just let me feed her.”

“I think that's my cue to make my escape before the rest of them get any ideas, actually.” Rilienus says. “Friday. Don't forget, and don't trip and knock yourself unconscious on the stairs because your cats _will_ eat you alive, I've seen a documentary.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world, sweetheart.” Bull says, just to see Rilienus' reaction.

“Ugh, don't be _cute_. No nicknames.” Rilienus says, and slams the door on his way out.

So, this is getting off to a _great_ start.

* * *

The party is at the house of yet another vint, some friend of a friend of Rilienus who might also be some sort of distant cousin, Bull's not clear. He looks over the sight of Rilienus and Bull, and smirks. “You realise Dorian is invited, right?”

Rilienus makes a very convincing face of horror. “Well uninvite him!”

“Too late, he's already here. Sorry.” the possible-cousin says, not looking sorry at all, and then very quickly finds an excuse to move on.

“Biggest gossip in town.” Rilienus says, leaning up to Bull's ear. “This is going exactly to-- _shit_ , he's here. By the stairs. Look-- or maybe you shouldn't look, or at least, don't look like you're looking, okay?”

There's a small cluster of vints holding actual wine glasses at the bottom of the stairs, far side of the room. Any one of them could be Rilienus' infamous ex. “Which one? Sure you want to go through with this?”

“The unfairly handsome one managing to pull off the one-shoulder look, and _no_ , of course not, I want to go over there and stick my tongue down his throat, but we both know my decision making processes are flawed in this regard.”

Bull looks again. Without making it look like he's looking, because it's not like he's an amateur. _Damn_. He can see why Rilienus would have trouble giving that up. “ _Damn_.” he says, because it feels like it might be worth saying out loud. Rilienus is tall for a human, but in a scarecrow sort of way, probably because he seems to subsist mostly on liquids and contrariness. Dorian Pavus has actual muscles, wears his fancy clothing like he's being paid to model it, and generally looks like he walked out of a painting by that one old Tevinter master Rilienus is always going on about, the one who was _definitely_ an ass man.

“Shut up.” Rilienus says. “Ugh, I think he's spotted us. Try to look muscular and besotted with me or something.”

“You suck at this.” Bull informs him. “Want a drink?”

Rilienus pulls out a hip flask. “Don't you _dare_ try to sabotage the bet. Rocky has a family wedding next week, there's no way I'm losing.”

“Pretty sure whatever that is is cheating.”

“Pretty sure Rocky was too dumb to nail down the rules and anyway, this is mostly kale. Hardly any psychoactive effects at all, honest.” Rilienus says, unconvincingly, and takes a gulp.

This is the point at which Dorian Pavus pushes his way into the conversation. He glances at Bull for a single second, calculatedly dismissive. “Really, Rilienus? This is beneath you.”

It's pretty easy to move so he positions himself slightly between Rilienus and Dorian, to pull on the experience of many years of getting idiots to stop hitting on his friends at bars. A friendly arm across Rilienus' shoulders. “Well, yeah, if I went on top I'd probably squash him.”

It works beautifully, both in terms of making Dorian Pavus look very confused, and making Rilienus sufficiently annoyed at him to distract him from his ex. “No _puns_.” Rilienus says, glaring. “I am reasonably sure I said no puns.”

“You said no nicknames.”

“Ugh, I knew I should have spent more time defining the parameters of this date.”

“I'll agree to no puns if I'm allowed one nickname or endearment.” Bull suggests.

Rilienus considers this briefly. “Fine, but it can't be anything you have used for a cat.”

That is... extremely limiting, but he supposes kind of fair. “Deal.”

Rilienus turns back to Dorian, who is eyeing the two of them with a sort of confused suspicion. “I'm pretty sure we're still not talking, Dorian.”

“Fine, have your little jest, if you must.” Dorian says, and retreats back to his circle of friends, not that he-- and everyone else-- doesn't keep an eye on Rilienus and Bull for the next hour.

The pretty ones are always the worst. “You owe me so much cake.” he tells Rilienus, after about the eighth stupid question from one of Rilienus' friends, who seem to all be mages or vints or vint mages and apparently have never actually interacted with a qunari before.

“Sadly, not all of my countrymen are as open-minded and culturally aware as I am.” Rilienus tells him.

The concept that _Rilienus_ , a guy who still thinks startling people with his magic is funny, is better than your average Tevinter is just slightly terrifying. “Also, your ex is hot, but kind of an asshole.”

“My eternal struggle, summarised.” Rilienus says. “Please tell me he's not your _type_ , I'm not sure I could cope with that mental image.”

Oops. “Nah, not interested in assholes.” It's kind of a white lie. Rilienus doesn't need to know that he would _absolutely_ have gone for that, if he wasn't Rilienus' ex. He's only missing the _one_ eye, after all.

“There is graffiti in the mens room at your favourite sports bar that implies the absolute opposite, you know.” Rilienus says. “Speaking of which, want to move this to somewhere with stickier floors and slightly less judgemental staring? I want to taunt Rocky about my upcoming victory.”

Yeah, he's definitely had enough of this. A thought. “So, what are we telling everyone about this?”

Rilienus goes very still. “ _Shit_. Forget the shovel talk, I'm going to get _buried alive_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled "pretentious baby names" for this chapter, so apologies if you or anybody you know is called Fenston or Barnaby.

There were various explanations Dorian could give for the tumultuous nature of his relationship with Rilienus. Growing up in Tevinter certainly hadn't helped, but that had also had worn thin as an excuse, the longer they'd been in the South. There was the fact that when you've known someone for more than half your life, you know exactly where to strike to hurt them, but that only explained the viciousness of their arguments, not the root of them.

Now, with an inch of a very middling wine left in the bottom of his glass and Rilienus still chatting to his qunari... _friend_ , he knows exactly the reason for everything.

It's Rilienus' fault. Rilienus is an asshole.

“Don't sulk just because he's winning this break-up, Dorian.” Fenston says. “Can I be honest with you?”

“You work in advertising, you're congenitally incapable.” Dorian informs him. “But go on.”

“You're a lot more fun when you're fighting with him.” Fenston says. “Domestic bliss does _not_ suit you. Maker, look at that thing. Where do you think he got it?”

“There's an app for that.” Barnaby interjects. “Several, in fact. Would you like a cost estimate? Depends whether or not he went for _full service_.”

“Andraste's staff, can you _imagine_?” Fenston says, making a tiny face of disgust.

Unfortunately, Dorian rather can. He knows what Rilienus looks like naked, after all, and while he has no direct experience with naked qunari, the internet exists for a reason and it is not for more efficient ways to calculate your taxes. He doesn't correct them on their assumption that this is some hired-- actor, say-- that Rilienus has brought to stir things up and make some point or other. Or some stranger from a bar, convinced to come along for a laugh and the chance for some free wine. He'd thought the same, at first glance.

But from the way they'd talked to each other, it was more like they were friends, and Rilienus does _not_ make friends that easily. It's a mystery. Dorian hates mysteries, or at least, being mystified. “I'm going to go.”

“Absolutely out of the question.” Barnaby says. “You cannot leave the party before he does, you know that. Sends all the wrong signals.”

“Well,” Fenston says, “ _they're_ leaving. He must have paid by the hour.”

Sure enough, Rilienus and his companion appear to be heading for the exit. Barnaby shrugs, throws a friendly arm over Dorian's shoulder. “Well, now the sideshow has gone, let's get Dorian something for the main event. Come, you tell me your fancy, and I'll tell you who's currently single and likely to put out.”

He shrugs out of it. “Hard pass. I fear for the day my standards drop so low I have to take _your_ recommendations.”

Fenston laughs at the joke, and Barnaby makes some token protests, but neither of them, in the end, really cares if Dorian actually stays or not. He can hear Rilienus spitting venom about _your Alti friends_ in the back of his head, and since Rilienus isn't actually here, he doesn't mind admitting he might have a point, sometimes.

He can't get Rilienus or his date out of his head. By the time he's gotten home, he's made his decision, and sends the message before he can talk himself out of it.

 _We need to talk_.

There's no answer immediately forthcoming, and he leaves his phone while he hunts in his fridge for leftovers and makes some ginger tea to ward off tomorrow's incipient hangover from inferior wine. Without Rilienus about to stock up his supplies, he can't be wasting potions on such things.

By the time he's finished all that, there's a response.

_We didn't get a proper introduction earlier. I'm The Iron Bull._  
_I'm not going to tell you not to contact him again or anything, that's up to Ril_  
_Just wanted to say that he's a good guy when he's not being an asshole, and I'm going to try and do the right thing by him, in case that's what you were worried about_

Just as Dorian's wondering what the fuck he's going to do with that info, a new series of messages arrives.

__  
DORIAN IGNORE ALL OF THE ABOVE  
DELETE THIS CONVERSATION FROM YOUR PHONE  
DELETE IT FROM YOUR BRAIN  
DELETE BRAIN  


More than anything else, that settles it. Because he can imagine how flustered Rilienus is right now-- always terrible at anything that involves openness of feelings-- and it's sweet. It really is. It's not like he hasn't known for a while that Rilienus and him aren't going to work it out. It's not like he doesn't know they really ought to manage to stay broken up this time. It's merely that he was sort of planning to be the one to show up with an impressive new boyfriend at some party or other, and the fact that Rilienus has done it first stings, just a little.

He can be the bigger man, though. Support Rilienus in this new whatever-it-is. That's what he ought to do, surely. In a few years, surely they'll laugh over this as they do brunch, together with their respective significant others, and that will be fine, because by then Dorian will have met someone even better, not that this is a competition or anything.

 _I'm happy for you._ he sends. There. He is very sensible and supportive and not at all jealous about Rilienus' very large, very muscular qunari boyfriend with the nice smile. Look what a good person Dorian Pavus is.

Although tomorrow, he's definitely going to start lining up some dates, because it will be far easier to be a good person when he's got some arm candy of his own.

* * *

“Good job, Chief.” Krem says, leaning over the edge of the booth. “Very believable. The bit where you say Rilienus is an asshole, particularly.” 

It probably says something about Rilienus' mental state that he doesn't even bother returning the jab. “How did you even get hold of my phone.” he wails, cradling it in his hands, pointing at Dorian Pavus' single-line message. “Look at this. Look what you've _done_.”

“Ancient elvish secret.” Dalish says. “Also you're a ridiculously easy target, how do you not get pickpocketed daily?”

Rilienus glares at her. “If you were a mage I'd compliment you on your fine control with force magic, but since you're _not_ I'm just going to tell you to fuck off.”

On the way to the bar, they'd made the decision to just let everyone in on the secret, since it's not like there's a lot of overlap between Bull's friends and the sort of circles his posh-ass ex moves in. Mostly everyone finds the concept _hilarious_.

“I thought Bull's words were very heartfelt and moving.” Stitches says, although the effect is slightly spoiled by the way he's barely managing to get the words out without choking with laughter.

“You should take a picture of Rilienus with all your cats.” Krem suggests. “It would make it more believable.”

“That is the worst thing I have ever heard in my life.” Rilienus says, reaching blindly out towards the table. His weird little flask emptied out at least half an hour ago, and he's been on the edge of losing his bet with Rocky ever since. Bull pushes a glass of water in his direction. “No, wait, _this_ is the worst thing I've ever heard in my life. He's _happy_ for me? He's being reasonable? Dorian's never reasonable.”

“Isn't that what you want?” Bull asks him. He would have thought that this was the ideal outcome. The last thing they want, surely, is Rilienus' ex trying to hang around and break them up or steal Rilienus back or something stupid like that. The quicker Dorian Pavus moves on to newer pastures, the less time Bull has to spend on this dating charade, and there's limits to what he's willing to endure, even for really good cake.

“No,” Rilienus says, “I wanted him to look at you and be seethingly jealous and miserable and rue ever breaking up with me, obviously.”

Ah, and the truth comes out. It's a good thing Dorian doesn't want to come steal Rilienus back, because honestly Bull would probably just hand him right over. “That's not really how you sold this shit to me in the first place.”

“The Iron Bull, please will you make my ex horribly jealous because he has this thing about muscles.” Rilienus says, mockingly. “You would have said no. Anyway, I _did_ mean the other stuff about wanting Dorian to move on and all that, I just _also_ wanted him to suffer a bit.”

Yep, that sounds about right for Rilienus, but it's not like he was really expecting better. Besides, he knows exactly how to get his own back. “I've always wanted to try that thing where you get matching couple's t-shirts.” he says, and the table bursts out in a million rapidly-escalating suggestions for romantic couple-wear while Rilienus puts his head in his hands and bemoans his life in general.

Hey, if he's going to go along with this, might as well have fun with it.


	3. Chapter 3

At least, Dorian thinks, this job sounds like it will have some minimal interest involved. Most of the really interesting magical work down here requires you to be a member of a southern Circle, a concept Dorian had considered for approximately thirty seconds, which was the amount of time it had taken him to skim the list of “voluntary regulations” he would be signing up to if he did it.

So while he can run magical circles around most of senior management, because his _paperwork_ is not in order, he gets shuffled off to the less serious jobs, for the most part. The number of people who think they need a mage consulting on matters of _outdoor lighting_ or some such nonsense gets rather draining after a while.

_Possible ancient magical structures at the bottom of our building site_ is much more along the lines what he was hoping for when he took this job. “It shouldn't be too hard to identify and secure whatever it is.” he reassures the site manager. “Most likely nothing too sinister, merely a bit of warding on an old storeroom or something of the sort.” After spending the required six-months on secondment in Kirkwall, he doubts it's going to surprise him, at least.

“I've asked a Templar representative in, just in case.” the site manager says.

Yes, he can see the man wearing a suit so starched it might as well be beaten out of sheet metal, he hardly needs anyone to point him out, thank you very much. “How very reassuring. If anything comes up that I am unable to handle myself, I will be sure to speak to him directly.”

There are also some local archaeologists involved, headed by a young dwarf who asks him endless questions about magic while he's trying to work. The inscriptions on the pieces they've recovered reference Urthemiel, which would fit with the cluttered mix of combs and mirrors and jewellery and suchlike, presumably left by devotees, and the very heavily dragon-themed decorations.

That leaves whatever is sealed under the stone that thankfully, they've so far had the sense to leave well alone. Technically speaking, necromancy is not permitted under local law without both Circle membership and some ridiculously difficult to obtain license out of Nevarra, as if the Mortalitasi of all people would have some sort of higher level of knowledge, hidebound crypt-lickers that they are. But also, nobody actually present on site is likely to recognise it if he takes just a _little_ peek.

It doesn't take very long.

Well, fuck, he better speak to the Templar.

A number of lies about _how_ exactly he knows there are human remains underneath the stone with the potential for Very Bad Things if they are disturbed later, and he believes he's at least convinced them to take his advice on making sure that things are appropriately handled. Add another good chunk of hours to his bill, management will be happy about that, at least.

Unfortunately, it has also started to _drizzle_ , the worst form of rain because all the locals expect you to just work through it as if the sky is not trying to slowly murder you, also there is mud, his drycleaner is going to curse at him in Antivan again. The young dwarf points out that there is coffee over in one of the ugly tents the contractors are sheltering under, and he decides to nearly forgive her for asking so many pointed questions about what sort of magic he's been using within ear-shot of the Templar.

It is, of course, not very good coffee, but it is warm and vaguely caffeinated and they have brown sugar, so all things considered it could be worse. For example, he could turn around, looking for perhaps somewhere to actually sit down for the first time this morning, and find himself staring straight at Rilienus' qunari boyfriend.

Or, for example, Rilienus' qunari boyfriend could be wearing a hi-vis vest with no shirt underneath, showing off all his muscles like he's walked off the set of some sort of pornographic film. Apparently this is what Rilienus is into now. For once, Dorian can not fault his taste.

Another example: said qunari boyfriend could smile at him as if this is not entirely the worst and most awkward thing to happen since the first time they met, last Friday, wander over to him and strike up a conversation. “Dorian, right?”

“And you're _The Iron Bull_ ,” which is not actually a proper name, but ah well, “and you are-- a builder?” He is wearing a hard hat, which apparently has been customised to clip over the horns somehow.

“Head of the landscaping crew, actually.” The Iron Bull says. He vaguely indicates the particular region of mud Dorian was just examining. “Just wanted to check-- no demons are going to come out of there, right?”

“Provided the tomb is properly sealed and remains undisturbed, you will be fine.” Dorian vaguely casts his mind back to the site plan he'd seen earlier. “I would not recommend putting a fountain on top.”

The Iron Bull frowns. “Yeah, really need to talk to the boss about that one. We're going to have to redesign the entire area from scratch to work around this. Thought all the dragon symbols were cool, didn't realise it was going to be all magic and crap. Not good with that stuff.”

A not unfamiliar opinion, down here, although a little surprising for someone Rilienus is dating. Rilienus has never been one to hide his magic, or anything else, for that matter. “Now I have to ask. How do you put up with Rilienus?”

“Mostly by not drinking anything he makes, especially if he claims it's good for you.” The Iron Bull grins. “ _Kale_ , my arse.”

Ah, somebody else has correct opinions Rilienus' unfortunate attitude to self-medication. “If he tries to insist he's a _professional_ in that area, remind him that his employers very sensibly re-assigned him away from the formulation chemists within about the first month of him starting.”

“Yeah, he told that story. Not as funny as he thinks it is.” The Iron Bull shudders. “Fucking _beetles_.”

Somehow that Rilienus is actually sharing this story with prospective boyfriends does not come as a surprise. Honestly, _I nearly drowned my workplace in horny beetles_ is not something to be proud of. “The tale is, I would think, a little exaggerated.” Although he can't quite resist teasing. “Although you could always invest in some sort of netting over the bed, just in case.”

“Would that work?” Maker save him, The Iron Bull looks like he's actually considering it. “Wouldn't they just knaw through it?”

“That was a joke.” Dorian says. “He's not going to create some sort of weird beetle pheromone in your house. Even Rilienus rarely makes the same mistake twice.”

“You being the exception?” The Iron Bull says. A small frown. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“I would be worried if you were dating Rilienus and unable to be at least a _little_ petty.” Dorian says. Squares himself up to it. “Look, no matter what else, he's still one of my oldest friends. Take care of him.”

“I will.” The Iron Bull replies, very serious, and just as Dorian is feeling very awkward about this Moment they appear to be having, somebody calls for him. “Sorry, better go. Enjoy the coffee.” He jogs over to another group of hi-vis and hard-hats standing out in the drizzle. The view from the rear is very... enlightening.

Fact: being a grown-up about this entire business is _awful_ , and he definitely needs to go get himself a date.

* * *

_Hey, I met your ex at work today. He's actually not a complete asshole._   
_WHAT. WHY. HOW. WHY. WHY. WHY._

* * *

The opportunity to get cat photos as part of this scheme is one that Bull simply can't pass up. Mostly because all his cats seem to adore Rilienus, and are always trying to climb on him no matter how much he squawks about it. Probably because they know that no matter how much noise he makes, he never actually gets genuinely mean with them, just insults them at length while pretending he's not considering giving them a pat when he thinks nobody's looking.

Rilienus, for his part, seems to think he can negotiate with animals.

“Give me Coco.” he says. “If we must do this, I am going to mitigate my risk by choosing the one with twenty-five percent less claws with which to murder me. Also she goes better with my outfit.”

This is the point at which Squash jumps directly into his lap. Rilienus glares at him, then at Bull for allowing this. “He really likes you, you know.”

“I cannot imagine why.” Rilienus frowns down at the cat. “I have never given you the slightest bit of indication that I appreciate your presence, you horrible lump of fur. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

He points an accusatory finger in Squash' face. Squash licks it. It's really cute. Bull could cry, but he takes the shot, instead, before Rilienus pulls too many horrible faces. “Cute.”

“I hate all of you.” Rilienus says, to the room, but he doesn't shove Squash off his lap, just resignedly reaches for his phone on the coffee table. “Oh, Dorian's texted me again--”

He trails off. “Something wrong?”

Rilienus gives him a sharp smile. “No! Everything's great! Dorian has a date, which is _exactly_ what this plan was all about, so yay us!” Squash meows plaintively, and Rilienus drops a hand onto his head. “Shut up, you, you've been no help at all. Go ahead and lick me to death, put me out of my misery.”

That answers the question of whether or not Rilienus was still having second thoughts about his madcap plan or not. “You want a hug or something?”

“No thanks, I think I'm going to lie here and wait for oblivion.” Rilienus says. Creampuff walks along the top of the sofa and sniffs his hair. “Or to be devoured by menacing beasts, which seems more likely a fate.”

Well, okay then. There's probably no arguing with Rilienus when he's in this sort of mood. “I'll make some lunch while you do that. Maybe take some selfies with the cats.”

“Trying to fatten me up for your horde, I see how it is.” Rilienus says, but when Bull pokes his head out of the kitchen ten minutes later he's taking shots of Creampuff and Coco snuggling on the couch next to him while ignoring Treacle's attempts to steal his socks right off his feet, so Bull would say _distraction accomplished_.

Also, he obviously hasn't realised yet that Bull's posted the photo of him and Squash to the Chargers group chat, or there would be more yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bull has four cats, all rescues. It is possible that Stitches' boyfriend volunteers at a shelter and also possible that Stitches' boyfriend knows Bull is a soft-touch.
> 
> Squash: full name Ser Butternut Squash, nicknames include Squishy, Squish-Squash, Butterball Squash, Butterball, etc. The eldest of the bunch, he has a few health issues but he is a big round orange ball of purring love for everyone and everything.
> 
> Treacle: Treacle-tart sweet-heart is a skinny tabby girl who will try to eat everything that holds still long enough and a number of things that try to run away. For some reason she has a especial liking for socks, usually while still on feet.
> 
> Creampuff: aka puff-puff, occasionally Little Krem or Krem Jr (mostly to annoy Krem). Cream-coloured Siamese boy whose main hobby is being on top of furniture. Note: Bull's head is also a furniture.
> 
> Coco: A sweet black tripod kitty who enjoys sleeping on clean laundry, snuggling with her siblings and crying loudly because Creampuff has climbed on something she can't reach.


	4. Chapter 4

_Morning Orchid. How did last night go?_

_Awful. Orlesian, actually appears to consume more caffeine than Rilienus, which was previously thought to be biologically impossible, attempted to tell me I should try going clean shaven._

_The offer to hook you up with one of my cousins-in-law stands, you know._

_I can find my own dates, Mae._

* * *

It turns out that Dorian's services have been retained while they figure out how to work around the unexpected magical burial mid-site. Bull hates everything about the phrase _unexpected magical burial_ , up to and including the way the guy managing the overall build is from Kirkwall and thinks his feelings are funny.

“If you think this is bad, _never_ come to Kirkwall.” he says. “You can't dig anywhere without hitting some sort of buried ritual fuckup. I'm mostly joking. Only seriously, don't go to Kirkwall. Our city slogan is _Tourists Fuck Off_.”

He also keeps going on about ordering a Meredith Standee, whatever that is. Hilarious, apparently. Dorian, at least, seems to have some sympathy. “There's something to be said for keeping good humour in the face of tragedy, but when it comes to Kirkwall, what can mostly be said is that they're very annoying about it.”

“Not a fan?” Bull asks, handing him a coffee with the required 'singular brown sugar, not the syrup mixture you drink, Bull'. Honestly, the free coffee has been the best thing about this job so far, what with it not containing demons and all.

Dorian takes it carefully. “There is a requirement for new staff from my office to be seconded to the Kirkwall office for six months, mostly because they struggle to keep permanent staff there. The worst part is not that it's a shithole-- which it is, incidentally-- but how proud all the locals are about the fact it's a shithole. They're _competitive_ about it. My local pub smells more of sweat, blood and despair than your local pub, that sort of thing.”

Dorian is absurdly good looking even when he scowls. Particularly when he scowls, for some reason. The suit he's poured himself into is not really appropriate for a building site, but does show off his ass fantastically, so Bull doesn't think he'll complain. “I would have thought the worst part was all the red lyrium and demons. Just promise me you'll make sure whatever it is down there _stays_ down there.”

“There were surprisingly few actual demons involved, and unfortunately I will have to cede responsibility for _that_ to the actual Mortalitasi who they're sending this afternoon. I'm not sure what they expect me to do until then. Stand about improving the view, perhaps.”

“You definitely do that.” Bull says, before he can remember that probably he shouldn't be flirting with Rilienus' ex, especially when he's pretending to be Rilienus' boyfriend. “Uh, you know much about this Urthemiel?”

“I am reasonably well-versed in the history of my homeland, although I wouldn't consider myself an expert on the Old Gods, specifically.” Dorian shrugs. “More than the average person, I suppose, although that's not saying much.”

“Yeah, kind of a surprise to find out that you guys used to worship dragons.” He'd kind of thought that the vints mostly worshipped themselves, and then possibly the Maker on the side or something. 

Dorian gives him a very offended look. “The Old Gods were not dragons. The Old Gods took the _form_ of dragons. You make us sound like a bunch of savages.”

“If I wanted to do that I'd ask about all the slavery and blood magic.” Bull points out. “Dragons are awesome.”

“Believe me, any question you feel the need to throw at me regarding certain regrettable parts of Tevene history, I've already heard in every possible and offensively ignorant variant already.” Dorian says. “Did you have a question about Urthemiel, or did you just want to remind me that I'm guilty by association of every shitty thing any magister ever did?”

Fuck, he's even hotter when he's mad. “We're trying to work some of the design elements from the burial area into the new plan, but most of my references are kind of light on the Tevinter side of things.” So far it's mostly as many dragons as he thinks he can get approval on, to be entirely honest. “Wondered if you'd maybe have a look, see if you think we're on the right track?”

“You're a qunari, and you're trying to design something that references one of the Tevinter old gods?”

“I'm Tal-Vashoth, and yeah.” Bull shrugs. “Kind of have a thing for history. If it wasn't possibly full of demons, I'd be down there helping Dagna out right now.”

“I suppose you'll need all the help you can get, then.” Dorian says, giving him a long considering look. “I have very strong opinions and I will not sugar-coat them.”

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

“He accused me of having a dragon fetish I think, three separate times, but other than that he was actually quite helpful.” Bull reports, as Rilienus lays out his work on the kitchen table.

They've come to an agreement that the easiest way to maintain the appearance of a relationship without Bull having to go to parties with a lot of vints at them (never again) is for Rilienus to spend some time at Bull's place and then post on social media about it. Mostly he brings reports from work he needs to edit or comment on, and then curses at whichever of Bull's cats is purring at his side while he scrawls insults on the pages that displease him. Bull feels very sorry for his coworkers.

“You seem to be getting on very well.” Rilienus says, picking out a pen and slashing a line through the entire first paragraph on one of his reports as if it offends him personally. “Also in this one singular case he is correct. You have a thing for dragons, and it's frankly rather weird.”

“How can anybody not like dragons?”

“If one was to land in Minrathous and eat the Archon, I would be in favour.” Rilienus says. “Otherwise, I am neutral on the matter as long as I don't have to go anywhere near one. More to the point, you've been lying to me.”

Huh? “How so?”

“You told me he wasn't your type.” Rilienus says, stabbing his pen into the report again. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that even my _fake boyfriend_ likes Dorian more, but I don't appreciate being lied to on the matter.”

Ah. Shit. “Well, I'm not saying his ass doesn't look good in those suits, but it's not like I'm going to do anything about it.”

“I hate those pretentious fucking suits he wears.” Rilienus says. “And how good his stupid ass looks in them. And that you know how good his stupid ass looks in them. And that my stupid intern can't properly cross-reference different regulatory frameworks. Everything is terrible.” He tears the front page off the report, rolls it up, and tosses it at Treacle, who pounces on it with some delight. “Oh look, your horde _can_ be useful.”

Great, Bull's going to be finding damp bits of chewed up paper under the sofa for weeks. “Would it make you feel any better to know that he's been having some really crappy dates lately? Overheard him complaining about it at lunch.”

Rilienus beams. “Well, why didn't you say so earlier? That is the sort of news you should lead with, you know.”

“Thought you didn't want to think about him dating other people.”

“This is news about him _failing_ to date other people.” Rilienus says with a vicious smile, tossing another paper ball to the cats. “That's an entirely different thing.”

“You're kind of terrible, you know.”

Rilienus shrugs. “Save it for our big public breakup row, Bull. I have work to do.”

* * *

_Well?_

_Absolute no. Far too vain, and that's coming from me. Restaurant was pretty good, though._

_Rilienus still getting along with his qunari fellow? The impressively large one._

_Why don't you ask him? Also yes, we are currently working together, he keeps flashing around cute pictures of Rilienus with his cats, it is intensely irritating._

_Jealousy is a very ugly emotion, Dorian._

_I'm not going to lower myself to emoji use, so you'll have to just imagine what hand gesture I'm giving you right now._


	5. Chapter 5

Like a great number of other times Dorian has gotten himself in trouble, there are extenuating circumstances he feels should be taken into account. Not that he's saying he's blameless, just that--

Well, firstly, Rilienus' new boyfriend has _definitely_ been flirting with him for the past few weeks of mostly-professional interaction. Granted, the flirting has been interspersed with pictures of his cats with Rilienus scowling in the background, but he's not been imagining it.

Secondly, everyone on every internet dating site is terrible, and their terribleness is only exceeded by the sort of people Fenston thinks he should consider dating.

Thirdly-- and possibly fourthly, also-- he might as well go ahead and put this one down as fifthly while he's at it-- The Iron Bull has far too many muscles, a very shaky grasp of what is appropriate work attire (hint: those trouser-things are _not it_ , your chest should be fully covered also), and keeps volunteering to lift things for people, even though that is not, strictly speaking, his job.

Fifthly-- or was it sixthly-- at any rate, there are a great number of reasons why it's not his fault that he's developed some sort of bizarre crush on Rilienus' new boyfriend, as if the life history of Dorian Pavus was not littered with a sufficient number of terrible decisions already. Most of which, come to think of it, are _also_ Rilienus' fault in some way.

Today was meant to be the last day he spent working on this project. Today was going to be the last day he'd have to suffer through regular interaction with The Iron Bull, who is _Rilienus' new boyfriend_ , as he keeps having to remind himself. Also, the last day he would have to put up with the Mortalitasi 'overseeing' his work and regularly opining on how much more open to the spiritual nature of death his people are, or whatever.

He will admit the Mortalitasi is capable enough. The man is certainly not going to be remembered in the history books for ground-breaking advances in magical research, but also an arcane horror is not going to bust out of the ground and tear apart visitors to the sculpture garden they're putting in place of the fountain that was a terrible idea all along. Also, the clients seem perfectly happy with the outcome, all things considered.

So, already an improvement over Kirkwall, where Dorian had learnt that the only thing worse than a arcane horror is a _damp_ arcane horror and that even if you are doing it for good reasons, people get very cross about having their floral clock set on fire.

It had been a very ugly floral clock and even before the arcane horror had turned up, had been riling up his allergies something fierce, so he still feels entirely justified, to be honest.

At any rate, here he is, with his various extenuating circumstances and his terrible crush nobody can ever know exists, and wouldn't you know it, the last thing he has to do before he leaves is sit down with The Iron Bull and confirm that nothing he's planning on planting would have any ill-effects with the now carefully warded burial site. Nothing that puts down tap roots seeking for traces of magic. Nothing that absorbs stray lyrium from the soil. Nothing that puts out a scent that attracts wyverns during the full moon. That sort of thing.

“You are definitely making that last one up.” The Iron Bull says, brow furrowed over his list of plants.

“Most plants reputed as lures for such beasts require serious effort to concentrate the active compound.” Dorian says. “At any rate, a tea rose with the name of Mabari Princess!, exclamation mark apparently required, seems unlikely to attract anything except ridicule, in my professional opinion.”

“What about bees?” The Iron Bull says, and only grins when Dorian glares at him. “Look, most of these I use regularly. No wyverns. I've marked the ones I'm not sure about.”

Sure enough, there are little pink highlighter stars next to some of the names. Dorian runs down them. “Fine, fine-- aesthetically horrific, but fine-- oh, wait. _This_ is legal to grow in Ferelden?”

The Iron Bull leans in to look at what he's pointing at. “It's available through our main supplier, wasn't flagged up in any of the usual databases, why?”

“I'll give you a hint: Rilienus went to some trouble to keep a pot plant of it hidden in his dorm room.”

A line goes straight through that one, because whatever else he may be The Iron Bull is no fool. “Right, I'll find an alternative. Anything else?” 

“I am afraid to inform you that the rest of these look drearily mundane.” Dorian informs him, after a few more moments of contemplation. “I am sure the final outcome will be suitably colorful and there will be no demons.”

The Iron Bull shudders. “I really, really hope you're right.”

Despite looking like he could take down one with his bare hands, The Iron Bull gets this look like a small frightened child when demons are brought up. It's somewhat adorable. “I am always right, so don't worry your pretty little head over it.”

He means to lean forward to pet The Iron Bull's knee or something in a suitably sarcastic there-there fashion, except he forgets that these stupid camping chairs or whatever they have on the building site like to collapse at the slightest provocation, so what actually happens is that it tips him nearly into The Iron Bull's lap, he grabs a shoulder and The Iron Bull's arm goes around his waist to stop him ending up in the dirt, and when Dorian looks up to apologise The Iron Bull looks down at the same time to check if he's okay, and they end up in this stupid pose like something off a movie poster, lips just a breath apart.

There are a lot of extenuating circumstances, but none of them really explain what possesses him when he closes the gap. Well, he might have a small idea, if he were to be honest with himself, but who wants to do that?

He has absolutely no idea what was possessing The Iron Bull for those few long seconds when The Iron Bull kisses him back.

* * *

Dorian Pavus is by turns infuriating, fascinating, and just plain damn _hot_. Not just your ordinary level of hotness, either. That one Tamassran with the red hair and the great arse level of hot. The faded copy of Dragon Rider Ataashi that Vasaad smuggled into boot camp levels of hot.

Which is why it's kind of unfortunate that he's also Rilienus' Asshole Ex, because if he'd met Dorian any other way, he definitely would be thinking about more than some light flirting, and he thinks it's quite possible Dorian would consider returning some more-than-light-flirting back.

He definitely hadn't expected kissing to enter the equation.

It's a good kiss. For a moment, he forgets that this is technically probably some sort of fake-cheating, or real-cheating but on a fake relationship, or whatever and goes with his instincts, which are that if a good-looking guy who you're pretty sure is kind of into makes a move on you, you go ahead and kiss the shit out of him.

Then Dorian pushes him away, and he remembers. Well, shit.

“That was an accident.” Dorian says, very quickly. “Also, a mistake. Which we are not going to repeat about, or talk about, especially to Rilienus, right?”

The half a boner he's already sprung doesn't _feel_ like a mistake, to be honest, but he understands Dorian's response, all things considered. What is he going to suggest, that honesty is the best policy? When he's lying about dating Rilienus in the first place? “You don't think he deserves to know?”

“Why, so he can hold it over my head _forever_?” Dorian says. “I have a better idea. We never see or talk to each other again, and he never has to know anything. Also, don't make a habit of letting yourself be kissed by other men, if you break his heart I am contractually obliged to murder you.”

“You started it.” Bull points out.

“You kissed me back, and also spend far too much time with your shirt off flexing your muscles unnecessarily. This is a _workplace_.” Dorian says, scowling.

Oh? “Been paying attention, have you?”

“Are you _flirting_ with me? Right now? Really? I give up.” Dorian says, grabbing his fancy briefcase off the table. “Not that I'm in the habit of being overdramatic, but _goodbye forever_ , The Iron Bull. Have a nice life. Never talk to me again.”

* * *

This has been one of the more confusing days in his life, and really considering the competition, that's saying something.

He thinks a bit about it on the way home. He never really promised he wouldn't tell Rilienus, and it would seem like the easiest way to clean up this entire mess. Once everyone understands what the real situation is, they can put it all behind them and move on like reasonable adults.

That might be a little too much to ask, considering all parties involved, but at least they can move on like petty, bickering adults?

So he gives Rilienus a call once he's gotten back and fed the cats. “Can we talk?”

“I'm standing in front of your door right now, so yes, but it would be more efficient if you let me in first.” Rilienus says, and promptly hangs up on him.

He opens the door. “We need to break up.” Rilienus says, handing him a box. “Those are caramels. If my mother paid attention to my social media updates she would know that I am only eating non-refined sugars, what does she need from me before she understands this, the seventeen basic principles of the mana-focus diet inscribed on stone tablets?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Caramels. Also, I dropped by Veg Royale downtown after work to see if they had any organic blood lotus, and I met this guy-- I say met, technically I threatened him with magical repercussions for taking the last of the purple kale and he didn't back down.” Rilienus smiles, kicking his shoes off without even having to be told. “Anyway, he's a microbiologist, fascinating although wrong opinions on the registration process for magical cultivars, long-story-short, we're going for smoothies and raw-food tacos at Healthroot on Tuesday, so you need to think of an excuse for us to break up before then. What did you want to talk about?”

Uh. Wow. Okay then. “I sort of met a guy.”

“Sort of?”

“Technically, I sort of already knew him, since you were the one who sort of introduced us.”

Rilienus only takes a moment to figure it out. “ _Not my type_ , my arse. I knew it. I _knew_ it. I can't believe you cheated on our fake relationship. I've been _wronged_.”

He sounds very pleased about it. “Do you count it as cheating if he kissed me?”

Rilienus grins, broad and sharp. “Oh, this is _perfect_. I mean, I knew there was a good chance he'd be into you-- kind of hoped he'd be terribly jealous of all the muscles, actually-- but I never thought that in an entire age he'd actually go so far as to make a move on you.”

“Why do I get the feeling you're about to do something unwise?”

“I am not, and I resent the implication that I would _ever_. I am merely going to break up with you, and not tell Dorian a single thing about _why_. It'll drive him absolutely mad wondering if I know or not.” Rilienus says, reaching down to discourage Treacle from knawing through his ankles. 

“Seems kind of mean.”

“I said I wasn't going to do something _unwise_. Nice is for kindergarten.” Rilienus says. “I tell you what. If he asks you a direct question, feel free to answer it honestly.”

“You're betting on him not asking.”

“A surer thing than the bet I just won with Rocky.” Rilienus says, holding up his phone, where a blurry picture of a very drunk dwarf with his underpants on his head is apparently his new lock screen. “Dorian, ask an honest question expecting an honest answer? Not if somebody ripped a hole in the fade and all the demons fell out.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Orchid, do you happen to know what Rilienus did this time?_

_You're really going to have to be more specific, Mae_

_Well, he's broken up with his Qunari fellow and is being unusually vague as to the reason, so I rather presumed it was somehow his fault._

Dorian stares down at his phone, but no more information arrives to enlighten him. Rilienus hasn't left him any angry voicemails, which is something of a relief. He can imagine the response, if Rilienus actually finds out.

What exactly is he going to say, if the subject comes up? Yes, I did kiss your boyfriend, again, but _this_ time around it was an accident and not out of spite? That'll definitely go down well.

The Iron Bull, he will note, has not contacted him at all.

Perhaps this has nothing at all to do with Dorian. Perhaps The Iron Bull has broken up with Rilienus for one of his many greatly irritating habits, like cracking his knuckles during movies or using the coffee grinder at 4am for things that aren't even coffee, and the timing of the entire thing with the kissing and then The Iron Bull actually listening when Dorian said _don't talk to me ever again_ is just a coincidence.

Perhaps.

It is entirely different, anyway, in that Cyril Whatshisface had been was a terrible kisser, and also Dorian hadn't really been attracted to him so much as feeling particularly spiteful at Rilienus, and also they were all twenty, which is an age at which you're allowed to be terrible, anyway.

As opposed to this time around, which-- well, yes, perhaps he should know better by now but he's sure there's a point to be made somewhere in there.

At least, he hopes so because the alternative is to admit fault and throw himself on Rilienus' generally non-existent mercy. He's considering the arguments at his disposal when his phone buzzes again, nearly startling him into dropping it.

He hopes that's not Rilienus. He hasn't figured out how the hell he's going to explain this away yet.

It isn't. It is, instead, a rather terse message from one of the senior managers:

_Need you in office. Parcel from client. On fire. Veilfire, specifically._

He's never been so glad to get called in for overtime in his life.

* * *

Perhaps jealous of all the attention that Treacle got last time she sat in things, Squash has managed to drag an empty cereal box out of the recycling bin and, relative sizes of cat and box being what they are and all, is sitting proudly on top of it when Bull comes home.

His first instinct is to take a photo.

His second is to send it to Dorian, even if the only number he has for him is a work phone, because inbetween all the complaints about the weather and everyone's dress sense and the coffee on offer and how Bull smells, Dorian turned out to be very fond of cat pictures, even the ones with Rilienus in.

Except Dorian has made it quite clear that he doesn't want any further contact. Except he won't be there at work tomorrow to scowl at the Mortalitasi and inform Bull that not _everything_ needs to have dragons on it (lies, all lies).

He puts it up on the group chat instead, and sits down on the couch. He doesn't actually like lying, which is kind of ironic, all things considered, but he didn't think that this plan of Rilienus' would involve so much actual interaction with Dorian Pavus, or that Dorian Pavus would be so-- well, yes, sometimes a bit of an asshole, but other times kind of a good guy, actually, and also incredibly, ridiculously hot.

He's just not sure what to do about this feeling. Fess up? Hey Dorian, I was never actually dating your ex, it was all a set-up that I agreed to because of cake and the vague hope I'd never have to listen to a drunken Rilienus talk about you for an hour straight again, want to go out for drinks sometime?

Yeah, that'll work out. Legally speaking, Dorian Pavus is definitely not permitted to set him on fire but he's not entirely sure that would stop a guy who used unauthorised magic to heat his lunch up that time the microwave broke, while holding eye contact with Bull the entire time like he was daring him to comment.

Mages are kind of terrifying.

Or well, it had been weirdly terrifying up until the point when the clingfilm got set on fire, which Bull hadn't realised was an actual thing that could actually happen.

Also, when he says _weirdly terrifying_ he means the sort of terrifying where his dick hasn't seemed to get the message about this being a bad thing, Dorian Pavus is just very confusing, altogether.

“Mrr?” Cream-puff asks, from his position on Bull's shoulder.

“Yeah, I don't know what to do either, Junior.”

Cream-puff answers by digging his claws in, so the question was actually _why are you sitting in this weird way that stops me getting to the top of Bull Mountain_ , but the answer holds.

* * *

_Chief just said no to coming out for drinks tonight. What have you done._

I resent the implication that everything is my fault, Cremisius. I presumed he would be happy that our arrangement has ended. 

_Yeah, well, while you're living it up in Hipster Asshole Bliss with your new man, he's sulking. Why?_

Well, there was that little thing where he kissed my ex. 

_RILIENUS_

I see no way in which this could be considered my fault. Blame his poor taste in men. 

_Self-own, much?_

I have long since come to terms with my own poor taste in men, Cremisius. Your judgement cannot touch me. Look, I'll drag my coworker out to drinks if you can crowbar The Bull out of the house. Red hair, pretty but dumb, takes selfies in his home gym with his one-eyed cat and expects me to have opinions about them. Judging by his opinions on wrestlers, will certainly want to climb that like a tree. Sound agreeable? 

_You've had worse plans. I'll speak to everyone, between us we ought to be able to organise something._

* * *

He has his suspicions when Dalish does that thing over the phone where she sounds like she's about to cry, because she only does that when she's got ulterior motives. And he knows it, but it works anyway.

It's just a few drinks. Maybe it would be good for him.

It really, really doesn't work out that way. The moment he sees Rilienus come in half-dragging a redhead in skintight jeans behind him, he knows what they're up to.

“I can't believe you.” Rilienus says. “That was my sluttiest coworker, what a wasted opportunity.”

“Leave him alone.” Krem says. “He doesn't have to go for the first person you throw at him.”

“Yeah.” Dalish says. “We've made up a list, so you have options. One of my neighbours is a contortionist, she can literally tie herself in knots, I think I should get next go.”

“We already drew straws and it's my go next, no jumping the queue.” Rocky says. “I know just the dwarf for you. They _nasty_ , but in the really good sense.”

Well, that's-- sort of nice of everyone, in a way, but he really doesn't feel up to it. “Thanks, guys, but-- seriously, no thanks. I'm okay.”

“Dorian Pavus has cursed your dick.” Rilienus says. “Not literally, Skinner, put that away. There is but one cure-- we need to get you laid.”

“I can get myself laid.” Bull points out. Which is true, generally. He's just not feeling like it right now.

“Redhead McTightjeans just told you he's into circus skills and is practising fire-breathing in his spare time and you didn't even blink.” Krem says. “This isn't normal, Chief.”

“I'm fine.” he repeats. “Just leave it, Krem, please?”

Krem doesn't look convinced. “Fine.” he says, “But if you skip out on Pizza Night I'm staging an intervention.”

Everyone else choruses agreement, except Rilienus, who looks thoughtful.

That probably is a terrible sign, but right now he just wants to go home and cuddle his cats, so he's going to pretend he hasn't noticed.


	7. Chapter 7

Dorian doesn't know how this should be possible, but he swears veilfire has a _smell_ , and that smell is currently clinging to him, his suit-- he feels like it's in his hair, ugh.

Senior Manager Ser Too Important To Do Any Actual Work had laughed when he'd mentioned it, like he thought Dorian was joking, but then again the man barely seems to know what necromancy is, so the finer points of interaction with the Fade are probably beyond him anyway.

To do: eat, maybe, and then sleep forever. Do not get sucked into a research hole about whether or not the Fade has a smell, because he has been working all weekend and apparently needs to be in work tomorrow at eight ' _sharp, Pavus_ ' so they can report back to the client.

When the doorbell rings, he considers just ignoring it. Even if he was expecting a delivery, they never turn up on Sundays. Probably somebody fundraising for Orphaned Chantry Puppies or someone from one of the local political parties who never seem to remember that he can't actually vote over here-- and he's too tired to make political canvassers cry today.

Then there's the addition of a series of banging noises, like a fist against his door with a very specific and unfortunately familiar rhythm to it. Double ugh. Suppose it would be rude to leave him on the doorstep, though.

Tempting, but rude.

“For fuck's sake, Rilienus.” he says, when he opens the door, which apparently Rilienus takes as _yes, please do shoulder your way into my apartment_.

“I had it all wrong. Apparently you can't break the curse, only transfer it to other people.” Rilienus says, which does not make any sense at all. “Why do you smell like veilfire?”

Well at least _somebody_ gets it. “I am reasonably sure that is not how curses work, also I see we are talking again.” Well, he's talking. Rilienus appears to be raving like a madman.

“It's how _this_ curse works.” Rilienus says, pointing a finger at him. It feels very accusatory. Dorian doesn't know why, out of the two of them Rilienus is far more likely to have actually put a curse on someone. “While I am happy to have escaped it, I didn't intend to do so by sacrificing Catdad McMountainface in the process. I actually feel sorry for him. Empathy is terrible, there ought to be a potion for that. I'm going to invent a potion for that. Rilienus' Patented Nevercare.”

“I refer you to my first comment: for fuck's sake, Rilienus, what do you _want_?”

“From you? Nothing, which is an _amazing_ feeling, should have done it sooner. You're an asshole. Which, yes yes, people in glass houses shouldn't cast Stonefist, but it's _true_.” Rilienus flings one of his long arms out in a wide circle. “Behold, I am _cured_.”

Right, and now another question springs to mind, what with the suspiciously fluent nonsense flowing from Rilienus' mouth and the agitated way he's shifting his weight from foot to foot. “What did you take?”

“You're not the boss of me _or_ my dick.” Rilienus informs him happily. “Also I know you kissed The Iron Bull, so while I don't want anything from you, I do need you to tell me why.”

He-- what. Dorian is far too tired to deal with this right now. “You know--”

“He's stupidly honest. I'm not even mad, I just need you to admit you did out of spite. Some wording along those lines, if you would: I, Dorian Pavus, Asshole, kissed The Iron Bull to spite Rilienus, because I am an asshole.” Rilienus recites, and gestures towards Dorian in what is probably mean to be an encouraging way.

All things considered, going along with this is likely the best way to get Rilienus to go away in the shortest possible amount of time. His presumptions are not surprising, even if the fact that this is practically _civil_ , all things considered, is rather out of the ordinary.

He can't get his tongue around the words. “That wasn't it.”

There's a short beep from inside Rilienus' jacket. “For fuck's sake, Dorian.” he says, and pulls out what looks like an _actual tape recorder_ from his inside pocket. “That's completely unusable. Hang on, I'm going to reset this and we'll try again.”

“You have a tape recorder.”

“It's a digital recorder designed to look like a tape recorder.” Rilienus tells him. “The little wheels spin around and everything. And you said I waste too much money on Kickstarter.”

Well that's-- entirely beside the point. “ _Why_ do you have any sort of recording device on your person?”

“Evidence.” Rilienus says, and points it directly at him. “Here we go. Spite, meant nothing to you, etcetera. Anything along those lines will do. Feel free to be mean, you're good at that.”

Charming as always. Dorian frowns at the recording device. “I'm not saying anything unless you explain what the fuck is going on.”

“One, The Iron Bull is sad. Two, he is also, believe it or not, my friend.” Rilienus says, ticking these points off on his fingers. “Three, this makes me have feelings I don't like. Also, if he dies of a broken heart his feral horde of cat children may think it's my fault and seek out bloody revenge upon my person. Also his feral horde of drunken children, a.k.a. his friends, although with them I can just tell them it's your fault. Apologies in advance for whatever it is Skinner's going to do to your car.” He pauses. “Was that four or five? Either way, you need to entirely dissuade him from pining over your arse, you arse, because it's starting to get tragic.”

This is all rather too much information to take in at once. “ _Pining_?”

“Tragically.” Rilienus says solemnly, nodding. He holds the recorder out again. “Do the right thing, Dorian.”

He hesitates. Even with Rilienus apparently in a reasonable sort of mood towards the whole actual cheating part of things, admitting that he might actually have some sort of actual emotions relating to this entire mess seems like a terrible idea.

And yet.

_Pining?_

Rilienus tilts his head for a moment, doing what Dorian always thinks of as his Confused Mabari Impression. “Oh _fuck_. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck. Seriously? Dorian, look at me. Are you having feelings? Feelings not centred in your groin?”

There is absolutely no way he's looking Rilienus in the eyes right now. He'll _know_. “I believe the line is, you're not the boss of me.”

“This changes _everything_.” Rilienus declares. “I thought you were either just hot for all the muscles, or being an arse, or possibly both.” He pauses. “Wait, did I mention the part where we weren't really dating?”

Where they-- “What?”

“I totally didn't, did I. Entirely faked. Convinced him it would help me stick the landing on our last breakup and also, admittedly, thought it would be funny. Probably should have led with that information, huh.” Rilienus holds his hands up. “Mea culpa, and all that.”

He better _bet_ it's his fault. “ _Rilienus..._.”

“You know what? I'm just going to let myself out, give you time to process.” Rilienus says, taking a step back. “Let's not say or set on fire anything we'll later regret, okay?”

It perhaps says something about the history of their relationship, the practised speed at which Rilienus manages to make an exit from his apartment. Dorian's going to think about that later, after food, and sleep, when hopefully the world will simply make more sense.

When he wakes up the next morning, earlier than he was hoping but too late for it to be worth getting more sleep before he gets ready for work, he has messages from Rilienus, the content of which are a phone number and then a series of texts that seem to have been sent intermittently through the night:

_figured you might want to know The Iron Bull's personal number_   
_presuming you haven't burnt your apartment down in a fit of pique_   
_in my defence, uh, it seemed like a good idea at the time?_   
_also i think i also forgot to mention i'm dating again?_   
_for real this time_   
_he's great, you'll hate him on sight_

He also has a text from an unfamiliar number

_Want to talk?_

Even if Rilienus hadn't sent him the number already, the dragon emoji tacked on to the end would have been a sufficient clue. Well, he's certainly minded to do something in the region of talking, possibly some yelling. A variety of things involving mouths, certainly, although it's possible he's getting ahead of himself.

_Will call you when I get off work._ he replies. Too cold?

Fuck it, he needs to go explain veilfire to idiots, this entire disaster can wait until later.


	8. Chapter 8

Inevitably, his work runs late. Partially this is because the veilfire client sends over a representative who is a mildly terrifying woman who spends three hours quizzing him on every part of his report in more depth than anyone bothered with for his thesis defence, but mostly it's because his bosses are assholes and want all the additions to the report she requested made same-day.

He's in his car, considering whether he should try ringing ahead to one of the takeout places because he's certainly not in the mood to cook tonight, when he remembers. He's too _tired_ to have this conversation, to be honest, but he did say he'd call, and if he leaves it until he gets home and eats it will go from being a bit later than planned to actively antisocial.

He nearly thinks it will go to voicemail, but Bull picks up at the last moment. “Oh, hey.” he says. “Sorry, just making dinner.”

Ah, one of those things that people whose bosses are not entirely unreasonable do at this time of night. “Just leaving work, myself. Perhaps we should postpone this--” Discussion? Is there a better word for a light chat where you want to be angry with the other person but are finding it quite hard to remember that because you also want to kiss him senseless?

“You live somewhere off the Calenhad Road, right?” Bull says, interrupting before Dorian can resolve his vocabulary dilemma. “You mentioned going to that Rivaini place once, Llomerryn Luck--”

Otherwise known as _Dorian's alternative to attempting to cook_ , yes. Not that he's going to reveal that he's such a regular visitor they already know to give him an extra helping of the red sauce on the side without having to ask. “I'm on that side of town, yes.”

“So, it wouldn't be too far out of your way to just come here, then. I can easily make enough for two. Uh, if you like Par Vollen-style curry and don't have any nut allergies, that is.”

He'd have to do something a lot worse than get conned into helping Rilienus out with one of his mad plans for Dorian to refuse offers of home cooking from a good looking man. Especially if said home cooking involves spicy food. “Deal.”

He has to bite back a laugh, when Bull gives him his address. Not out of his way, no. He's not exactly going to need directions to get there, either, which is a good thing because he tried to improve his car's gps unit with this interesting homing beacon spell he'd been experimenting with and the result is somewhat unpredictable at times. As it turns out, all this time, The Iron Bull was literally living three streets down from him.

There is also absolutely no way Rilienus was not aware of this fact, that bastard.

Bull's place has a tidy little garden out the front, with a dragon themed bird-bath and actual hanging baskets on either side of the door. Dorian rings the doorbell, making a mental note to hire some sort of-- garden wrangler, or something-- before he even considers inviting Bull over to his.

The door opens, bringing with it a waft of something which smells rather delicious, as well as the sight of Bull wearing only a pair of loose trousers and an apron-- also rather delicious. If he's trying to convince Dorian to forgive him for the entire _lying about dating your ex_ thing, he's certainly going about it the right way. “Hey, come in.” Bull says. “Make yourself at home, I've got to keep an eye on the curry right now but I can grab you a beer or something.”

“A bottle of the least worst local ale you have would not go amiss.” Dorian admits. Bull is barefoot, and there is a neat row of shoes lined up on a rack to the side, so he carefully removes his own and lines them up in one of the free spaces, next to a gaudy pair of pink sneakers. Bull brings him a bottle which is labelled with the slightly mystifying name of 'True Grey', instead of the usual picture of some sort of dog and name involving some sort of dog pun, but more importantly is cold and also eminently drinkable.

It's also very pleasantly domestic, he thinks, settling into the comfortable couch, and then sighs at himself. Getting ahead of yourself there just a little, Pavus. Remember you're still mad at him and also not technically even sure if he actually wants to actually date you. Let him at least apologise for his terrible Rilienus-related decisions first.

“Mrow?”

A vaguely cat-shaped lump jumps into his lap, with obvious effort involved in making the leap from floor to couch. Immediately recognisable from Bull's million photos of him, Squash is _heavy_ , sagging over Dorian's lap as if he is slowly deflating, and his entire being smells as if he has been marinated in some sort of anchovy sauce. Dorian loves him immediately.

In the kitchen, he can hear Bull attempting to argue with another cat about the sensibility of getting under his feet while he cooks. Judging by the plaintive meows, the cat is arguing back.

He is _not_ forgiving anything just because the cats are cute.

Honest.

“Nearly ready.” Bull says, popping his head out of the kitchen. “I'll feed them before I serve up, if you want to wash up before dinner just sort of roll Squash off your lap to the side, he won't mind. Bathroom's first on the left at the top of the stairs.”

Given that Squash has spent the last couple of minutes licking Dorian's fingers, that probably is a good idea. Dorian gently nudges him to one side, until he does indeed just roll off, landing with his belly up and looking not at all concerned about this situation.

He washes his hands. Tries for a short and futile period to brush the cat fur off his trousers. Checks his hair-- still fantastic, even after insufficient sleep and a long day at work, so at least there's that. Profile flawless, as always-- if nothing else, he can thank his parents for his superb bone structure.

So why does he feel as nervous as if it's the night before his Harrowing?

* * *

When he heads downstairs, Bull has fed the cats and is serving up something that certainly smells good in a set of charmingly rustic crockery.

Par Vollen style curry, as it turns out, means dry, fragrant, and with an actual flavour profile, unlike the sad vaguely spiced gravy that normally gets served up in Ferelden. Something about it reminds Dorian, somehow, about childhood summers spent in the eastern provinces of Tevinter, eating dinner in the gardens while the adults murmured things about skirmishes and evacuation plans they claimed he was too young to worry about.

_Remember all the times your people invaded my ancestral home_ is not exactly dinner conversation, though, even if Dorian rather suspects that for all his mother's later dramatisation of events they were never really close enough to be in danger of anything except perhaps having to abandon their drinks. “It's very good.” he says, instead.

“Are we going to talk about... things.”

“Do you mean, are you going to explain what was possessing you when you agreed to one of Rilienus' stupid plans in the first place?” Dorian says, waving his fork across the table. “By all means, go ahead.”

“Please don't say _possessed_.” The Iron Bull replies plaintively. 

“It's a figure of speech, and any demons that might be around would be far more likely to attempt to possess me, besides.” 

That demons target mages by preference ought to be common knowledge, really. Perhaps not for qunari. “That's not particularly comforting.” Bull says.

Archon's balls, it was a metaphor. “You're not answering the question.”

“Is this a dinner or an interrogation?”

“I'm excellent at multitasking. It said so in all my school reports, usually somewhere next to the bit about how much they would like it if I would apply my youthful energies in more socially acceptable directions.” Dorian points his-- sadly nearly empty-- beer bottle in the general direction of The Iron Bull. “Now spill. What-- _convinced_ you that any of this was in any way a good idea.”

Bull rubs one horn, slightly sheepish. “I was pretty sure it was a bad idea, but-- well, I figured it would be a _funny_ bad idea. Also you were supposed to be more like Rilienus and less-- uh--”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Dorian does get that a lot. It's true, after all. He supposes he will accept _I was blindsided by your incredible charm_ as an excuse for Bull's inability to not flirt with him while pretending to date Rilienus. Blindsided may be a poor choice of words in this case, granted, but it's flattering, all the same.

Bull smiles. “I was going to go with _fucking hot in a sort of scary mage way_ but yeah, that. I'd already promised Rilienus I'd play along, though, and to be fair you were kind of an ass when we first met.”

“I was _not_.” Dorian vaguely attempts to remember the exact sequence of events. “Besides, that was practically a declaration of war on Rilienus' part, so anything I said was a form of social self-defence.”

It would appear that The Iron Bull does not understand these little social niceties, like the appropriate levels of petty viciousness towards anyone your ex brings to a gathering. “It was just a party.”

“Spoken like someone who has never been to Tevinter.” Honestly, he doesn't recall saying anything in particular. A witty jab at Rilienus' expense of some sort, probably.

“I've been to Tevinter.”

“Odd choice of holiday destination for a Vashoth, isn't it?” Oh, in principle there's nothing to _prevent_ a Qunari citizen of one of the southern nations from taking a tour of the glories of Tevinter, but generally they-- don't.

“Tal.” The Iron Bull says, and before the shock of that can fully sink in, “It wasn't a holiday.”

Well, that's-- probably not anything he wants to even think about thinking about right now. “I think we're getting off topic.”

Luckily, Bull seems happy enough not to elaborate. Unluckily, he moves on to possibly the only thing Dorian would rather discuss _less_. “We could talk about why you kissed me.” 

“Pass, on the grounds that nobody can be legally compelled to incriminate themselves.” Really, Dorian's never been one to learn from the mistakes of his past when he could be looking _forward_ , to all the great potential mistakes awaiting him in his future.

“Hey.” The Iron Bull says. “Rilienus called me up and told me a lot of things, but among those things was that he was on his fourth formulation of the night of a great invention that would _prevent inconvenient empathy_ , so I'm guessing not all of that information is, you know, entirely accurate.”

“Quite.” Although Rilienus can be extremely truthful in such a state, especially when it comes to other people's flaws, so unfortunately there's a fair chance that some of the information was very accurate indeed.

“So I'm just asking. If. You know. Now you know.” Bull pauses, which one of the cats takes as the cue to leap onto the table, from there onto his shoulder and then attempt to seize one horn using both front paws. “Really, Cream-puff? Some wing-man you are.”

Dorian finds himself instinctively scrabbling for his phone. Not that he wasn't perfectly happy to talk about their _feelings_ or anything, but cats are-- the cats are easier. “This needs recording for posterit-- ow!” Did something just bite his toe?

“Mrow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catblocked! it's a good thing they're cute


	9. Chapter 9

So that's a yes on kisses, then. Bull makes a mental note of that one, even as the cats, sensing a new potential source of attention, descend on Dorian en masse. Squash likes him, and Dorian clearly likes Squash back, which cannot be anything but a good sign, after all, so he sits back, lets Cream-puff find a perch, and prepares himself for a little light conversation, a bit of a get to know you sort of a thing.

He had not been prepared for it to turn this way, this fast. Dorian parries every query about Tevinter back, slick as you like, and digs into Bull's own past like an interrogator. Never Bull's own speciality, that sort of thing, but he did sit through the counter-interrogation training, and Dorian makes him feel _out of practice_.

It doesn't take more than one quote from the Tome of Koslun, thrown out without thinking, for his gaze to sharpen. “I thought you were Tal-Vashoth?” he says.

“I am, but that doesn't mean I can't see the good parts in the Qun.” Sometimes he wishes he couldn't, because maybe that would have made it easier. A clean break heals easier, right?

Dorian's face is the absolute picture of scepticism. They should put it in a museum, if there was a museum of Scornful Vint Expressions or something. “Is that so? These would be in-between the parts about putting me on a leash, I presume.”

Tevene propaganda is somewhat out of date, clearly, but Bull's not poking _that_ hornet nest. “I usually leave that sort of talk to at least the second date.” he says, instead. “Wouldn't want you to think I was easy.”

The comment does bring a little bit of colour into Dorian's cheeks, but it's not enough to distract him from the topic. “Tell me something good, then.” he says. “One good thing-- and no bondage jokes, either.”

There is an easy out there, one he's used before, one Hissrad used-- it involves explaining the term _saartoh nehrappan_ , with hand-gestures if necessary, and it rarely fails to distract people from whatever inconvenient question they were minded to ask. It hardly matters if the concept disgusts or intrigues them, as either is a sufficient distraction for his purposes.

He would kind of hope it would be _intrigues_ , in this case, all things considered, especially if he tells it the right way, but instead when he opens his mouth it's the story of Ashkaari that comes out. Not something he'd normally speak of, but something in him wants Dorian to know: the joy of it, the purpose, the belonging. The purpose in belonging.

He doesn't speak of the other side of that particular coin, and he doesn't speak of Seheron. He thinks he might, someday. Dorian's hand is now resting lightly on Bull's knee as he leans in to hear the tale, and Bull thinks _someday I might be able to tell you about Vasaad_.

When he finally runs out of words, Dorian doesn't move his hand. “The first time Father sent me off to a Circle for my studies, I was ten.” he says. “And rather terrible.”

“Can't possibly imagine you being a terrible child.” Bull tells him, with a grin.

“Hush you, and listen.” Dorian says, so Bull does.

* * *

(commercial break before the epilogue reminds you that Veg Royale has the best quality organic produce, at prices you won't believe! Think value, think Veg Royale)

* * *

“You know that dwarven writer who hangs around the seedy pub Skinner will keep insisting we all go to?” Rilienus says, sprinkling something green into the risotto. Nominally, he and Rilienus are cooking tonight, by which he means Rilienus is cooking and Dorian is keeping Rilienus' wine glass filled.

“She likes beating all the locals at darts.” Dorian says, “if I'm thinking of the seedy pub you're thinking of.” Besides, their terrible beer is good, not that he'll ever admit it out loud. In the living room, he can hear Bull and Thibault having one of their _robust discussions_ , this one apparently about hedge maintenance.

Rilienus' boyfriend is really very, very irritating but it sounds like Bull is enjoying himself, so Dorian supposes he will allow it.

“Yes, well, I convinced him to have a look at my manuscript.” Rilienus says.

Oh. Oh _no_. “Please tell me you have not actually gone through with your threat to write your version of certain events.”

“It was my genius and inspiration that brought you and The Iron Bull together, Dorian.” Rilienus says. “I deserve to have that recognised. Unfortunately, he's refusing to pass it on to his editor-- scared of the competition, I'm sure.”

Thank the Maker for small mercies. “Were those his exact words?”

“Blah blah, your characters all fail at communication, I feel stupider for having read this, she would gut me for even trying to make her read it, etcetera.” Rilienus says. “Stir this. Without setting it on fire, if you can manage that.”

“Maybe you should take that as a sign to focus your artistic talents _elsewhere_.” Dorian suggests, even though he knows is it almost entirely futile.

* * *

“Thibault is a jerk and his timing is _atrocious_.” Rilienus says, scowling over his glass. “How dare he allow me to break up with him right before the Society of Magipharmaceutics award dinner? Has he no sense?”

“Why did you break up with him right before the magic dinner thing, then?” Bull asks.

“Dorian, tell your boyfriend to stop judging me when I'm _emotionally devastated_.” Rilienus says, then looks like he's had an idea. “I know how he can make it up to me, though.”

“No.” Dorian says.

“It's _one night_ , Dorian.”

“No.”

“Do you want me to suffer?” Rilienus says. “I thought you were better than this, Dorian. I thought we had overcome our tragic mutual past and come to a place of understanding and--”

“No.”

“I promise not to touch his ass?”

“ _No_ , Rilienus.”

“Stitches can go.” Bull says, holding up his phone. “Believe it or not, he actually likes talking to you about your weird potion shit. In return you have to go to a family wedding with him and fend off gossipy aunts, though.”

“Piece of cake.” Rilienus says. “I'm excellent with aunts.”

Dorian couldn't say why, but he has a terrible feeling about this.


End file.
